


Three Kisses

by Simara



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, canon typical existential dread
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-07-30 13:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20098099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simara/pseuds/Simara
Summary: Two kisses that didn't happen and one that did but I'm not telling you which is which.





	Three Kisses

**Three Kisses**

_"For all sad words of tongue and pen, _

_The saddest are these: 'It might have been'." _

_\- John Greenleaf Whittier  
_

1.

“Just ask him out already.” Tim had swivelled his chair close to Martin’s, making him choke on his tea at the sudden address. Martin could feel his face redden, yet whether from embarrassment or lack of oxygen was anyone’s guess.

“What? I mean – who –“, he stammered, lost for words. Tim cut him off with an exasperated gesture.  
“For fucks sake, Martin, you’ve been swooning over him for months now. We know. We all do. There is a goddamn betting pool. Ask him out or get over it but please, _please_ don’t make me watch this any longer. It’s physically painful how bad you are at flirting.” Tim’s tone was playful but it still managed to cut Martin deeply. It must have shown on his face, mingling with the embarrassment, because Tim’s voice softened considerably when he added: “You know I’ve got your back, right?” His hand found Martin’s and pressed it. The contact made Martin’s heart flutter. He’d never been the kind to make fast friends but Tim was one of those people whom it was impossible not to get along with. Martin tried to smile.  
“Sure.” Then, after some consideration: “Really, everyone?” Tim smirked.

“Yeah, I’m afraid so. And none of us gets what you see in him. He treats you like crap.” Martin pulled his hand free, very aware of how his face began to redden again.  
“He’s just very busy, that’s all. He doesn’t mean to be rude.” Tim looked all but ready to throw his hands up in defeat.

“You’re too good for him, Martin. You know that, don’t you? Please tell me you know that.” Martin scoffed and barely managed to not roll his eyes.

“Well, yeah, guys aren’t necessarily lining up for someone like me, are they?” Tim smacked his thigh in a disciplinary manner.

“Don’t belittle yourself. You just need to put yourself out there, that’s all.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Tim, looking like _that_.” Tim huffed dismissively.

“I know at least a dozen guys who’d happily eat you up, myself included.” Martin turned his head, trying to hide how much he wanted to believe his friend.  
“You’ve acquired a taste for most things though, haven’t you?” He regretted his words instantly but Tim didn’t seem to feel insulted. He caught Martin’s chin in his hand and forced him to look up.

“You’re not an acquired taste. You’re a happy meal.”

“Cheap and a little greasy?” Martin aimed for banter but failed horrendously. Tim slapped his thigh again, harder this time.

“A snack, Martin. You’re a snack.” They looked at each other with solemn expressions for a moment before both burst into laughter. It took a moment until they had managed to collect themselves. “I mean it though.” Tim stressed. “You’re handsome and sweet and make a hell of a cuppa. There’s a lot of people who’d be happy to have you. You only have to find them.” Martin rubbed his neck self-consciously.

“I don’t get out much since…” He gestured vaguely, indicating Jane Prentiss and the living nightmare that had come with her siege on his flat. “And besides, I barely know how to talk to a guy, let alone–” He wasn’t quite sure where he’d wanted to go with that sentence but Tim’s smirk made it very clear what he understood it to mean.  
“I could show you a few tricks.” It wasn’t always easy to tell when Tim was flirting and when he was just being nice but right now there was no mistaking his implication.  
“Stop it. I don’t think I can get any redder.” Tim laughed and it was so endearing that Martin couldn’t help but wonder how it would be to feel those lips against his skin.  
“The offer stands, okay? I know you’re more the live-long-commitment kinda guy, but doing it just for fun takes away a lot of the pressure.” Martin chuckled, amazed at how he’d made a friend like this.

“I’ll think about it.”

“What about Jon? Are you going to talk to him?” Martin sighted.

“I don’t know. What would I even say?” Tim considered it for a moment.  
“’Would you like to go for drinks after work sometime? Its okay if you’re not interested but I thought you deserved to know that I really like you.’”

“See, if you say that, it sounds charming. If I say that, I’ll die of embarrassment.”

“I would suggest getting him drunk at the next Christmas party then but I have to warn you that it’s considered very bad form.” Martin buried his face in his hands with a groan.

“I’ll just die alone then.” He felt Tim stroke the back of his head gently and relaxed despite himself.

"Hey Martin?" He glanced at Tim between his fingers.

“Hm?”  
“Would you like to go for drinks after work sometime? Its okay if you’re not interested but I thought you deserved to know that I really like you.” It took Martin an awfully long time to register what Tim was suggesting.

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay.”

“Tim?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Can I kiss you?” Tim smiled.

“Sure.” The kiss was tentative and sweet and simple and it took Martin’s breath away. He almost forgot about Jon.

2.

It was bloody obvious that Martin had been recording too many statements. Jon hated to see Martin like this but there was no point arguing with Elias. Still, watching Martin asleep at his desk like that, pale and unkempt, felt too much like looking into the mirror, an activity he tried to avoid these days. Martin stirred in his sleep, making a noise that sounded anything but restful. Jon reached out instinctively, pressing the other’s shoulder which was hard with tension.

“Martin. Martin, you’re having a nightmare.” Martin’s body jolted upright immediately. His eyes darted through the room, finally fixing on Jon. His whole posture shifted as he caught side of the archivist, almost as though Jon’s presence was enough to reassure him of relative safety.

"Oh", Martin said, trying and failing to sound wide awake and unaffected by whatever had haunted his dreams. "Hullo Jon. Are you staying late?" Jon felt the childish urge to ask him the exact same question but instead he nodded and gestured vaguely towards where a clock used to hang – only to realise that it hadn't survived the Hive’s attack on the archives. 

"We should both head home", he offered with little enthusiasm. "It’s past eleven." Martin sighted and ran a hand through his hair. Jon felt another surge of sympathy.

"The statements can be a lot, can't they? I remember how it felt before –" Before he had started to turn into a monster that couldn’t survive without them. Martin smiled softly, unaware of Jon’s train of thought.

"It's okay. I'll gladly do it if Elias thinks its any help to you." Jon paused, a flicker of knowledge on the edge of his mind, something so blindingly obvious that anyone else must have seen it a long time ago. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to compel Martin but something inside him was aching to know.

"Martin", he began, suddenly very aware of himself and the fact that he hadn't shaved in days. Neither of them had gotten much rest these past weeks. "Do you... _Do you fancy me_?

Martin’s ears turned red within a second.

"Uhm, yeah, I mean, I thought you knew by now. Everyone else does, apparently." His eyes grew wide as he realized what Jon had done but he seemed more relieved than angry. Jon inhaled sharply.

"Sorry. I shouldn’t have... You must think – I didn’t know though. Again, I'm sorry.” He was aware that he had started to babble but he couldn’t stop himself. “It wouldn't have worked out anyway, of course."

“Of course," Martin echoed but it sounded empty. "You’re busy, after all." Jon hesitated.

"Yes. That and... you know that I - I'm not much interested in the physical side of things, right?" Martin seemed a bit nonplussed. 

"Do you really think that would have bothered me? You're ace, so what? I would have given everything to hold your hand, to actually talk to you. Do you really think sex would have been more important to me than that?" Jon grew very quiet.

"’Would have’?"

"We've both changed." Martin said, quietly. Jon felt his skin crawl with the implication, the knowledge that he was becoming less and less human by the hour. A numbness began to swirl through his stomach, twisting and turning with vicious intent. "We've both changed", Martin repeated, “But if you’d ask I’d be yours either way." The numbness shattered and its shards punctured him with a sudden, urgent need. He wanted to hear those words again, know that after all he'd seen, after all he'd done, he was still worth being cared for. His eyes met Martins and they both were lost for words. 

"Georgie says I talk in my sleep," Jon finally blurted. Martin exhaled with relieve.

"And I hug the covers," he offered a little sheepishly. "But I've got a very comfy couch, if it comes to that." Jon smiled, hopeful, helpless, desperate for an anchor. He could have this, he realized, and it scared and excited him in equal measure. It was obvious that Martin tried very hard not to burst from joy. It seemed surreal to both of them and Jon couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. He lowered his gaze.

"I've been quite horrid to you. It would be incredibly selfish to ask anything of you now." Martin shook his head, mouth set.

"Don't you dare go all self-righteous on me, Jon. If you don't want me tell me to my face but please don’t turn this into an abstract issue." Jon's head shot up, self-aware and quite lost for words.

"I don't know what I want", he admitted, adding bitterly: "Except for not turning into a monster but it doesn’t seem like I've got any say in that."

"You'll _never_ be monster", Martin stressed. "We won't let that happen." Jon wanted to believe him, he really did, but the death of Sasha lay heavy between them. Both knew that good intentions were exactly the thing that got you killed these days. There were a thousand things that Jon wanted to say, a thousand questions the thing inside of him wanted to ask, but he settled on a simple: 

"Thank you", just to spite the entity that he was meant to serve. The smile that Martin gave him in return was well worth it and out of an instinct Jon leaned forwards and pecked Martin on the mouth. The kiss tasted like cigarettes and sleeplessness and Yorkshire tea and it was perfect none the less. Martin almost believed that Jon meant it.

3.

“Surprise!” Peter’s voice was cheery and much too close to be appropriate but Martin was so used to it by now that he barely flinched. He glanced up from his paperwork, considering the little box in Peter’s hand wearily.

“What’s the occasion?” Peter gave his best impression of a pout.

“Can’t a boss spoil his charming assistant now and then?” Martin set his pen aside and looked at Peter. It was very tempting to reach out, take the box and accidently brush their hands together. He could savour that little touch, drink it in, and ease the pain of isolation for just a second. Martin sighted and folded his hands in his lap in hopes that Peter wouldn’t see them shake.

“Alright”, he said cautiously. “What is it this time?” Peter got uncharacteristically quiet as he set the box in front of Martin and opened it with a soft click. Martin didn’t believe his eyes. The tie-pin was delicate, curved and covered in gemstones. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, before mumbling:

“I don’t really wear ties”, in half-hearted defiance. Peter beamed at him.

“That’s why I got you these as well!” He produced another, bigger box from his coat pocket and opened it unprompted to reveal three ties, each a different rich colour. Martin shook his head in disbelieve.

"You're impossible." Peter clicked his tongue in mock-disapproval

"What good is money if I cannot spend it on a handsome young man? Besides, you've been doing incredibly well, you deserve a reward." A tinge of pride shot through Martin because yes, he had been through hell and back these past months and he had taken it better than even Peter had expected. Martin took more than a little satisfaction in Peter’s occasional praise, he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Sinking into Forsaken willingly was a lot more freeing than he would have expected. It came with a certain sense of agency that was hard to explain. Perhaps it was only natural to feel a surge of power at the knowledge that the thing which used to chill you to the bones could be at your service if only you plunged in completely.

"Thank you", he finally said, feeling almost a little rude for his earlier decisiveness. "But you shouldn’t have." Martin had heard people talk behind his back whenever they passed him in the hallway. It shouldn’t bother him as much as it did but their gazes and whispers didn’t necessarily make it easier to ignore them on his way to the office. Peter seemed to sense his concern. His lips twitched into a Cheshire grin as he brushed his broad hand against Martin's shoulder in a slow, deliberate motion, as if to smooth the fabric. The effect was instantaneous: A shock of utter Loneliness shot through Martin, followed by a wave of satisfaction at the contact. Being touched by Peter felt like waking up alone after an emotionally exhausting but rather passionate one-night stand. He bit his lip to strangle a moan. 

"You'll look just lovely in a suit and tie. And best of all, I'll be the only one to see you, the only one to admire you. All mine." Martin wanted to protest, bring up HR for the hundredth time this month, but something inside of him was positively thrilled at the thought. No one to judge him, no one to bother him, with only Peter's endeared gaze on him and no one else there to make him feel small and insignificant. It sounded positively refreshing to be singled out so completely by someone who seemed all too easy to please. No more nervous chatter, no more attempts to make himself useful. Just peace and quiet and Loneliness and now and then Peter’s hands on his. He barely heard Peter's next words through the icy haze of Forsaken that had spread around him at his contemplations. “All mine and I yours, if you'd have me". _This must be what its like to get ensnared by a cult_, Martin thought distantly as his eyes met Peter's. They were simultaneously cold and gleaming, like sunbeams reflected on the ice. He felt himself nod before making a conscious decision to accept the offer. His heart skipped a beat but he wasn't sure if it was the Lonely, excitement or pure and honest disbelieve at his choice. Peter straddled him like it was the most natural thing in the world. It should have been quite awkward, considering how tall Peter was, but they seemed to fit together perfectly. Leaning forward, Peter ran his hands up Martins soft sides appreciatively, marking him as his own. Martin inhaled sharply.

"What are you doing?" It was meant to sound exasperated but he was so starved for physical contact that it came out much shakier than intended. 

"I suppose I am about to kiss you", Peter replied with a smirk. "Unless you have any objections, of course. None? Well then..." Martin had to suppress a rather undignified noise as Peter closed the space between them. The kiss was overdue and hungry and deep and made his whole body tremble. He had to accept that Jon would never kiss him like that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: "Martin deserves all the kisses but the author is physically unable to write nice things".
> 
> Come yell at me in the comments and on tumblr @simaraknows


End file.
